


Plausible

by Keraha



Category: The Administration - Manna
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keraha/pseuds/Keraha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the sim becomes perfect, what is to differentiate between it and reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plausible

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is based on the phenomenal [Administration Series by Manna Francis](http://mannazone.org/zone/admin/index.html).

> _"Careful design of simulated environments, and implementations that give participants the belief that they can actually effect changes in the virtual world, and that spark physiological, emotional, behavioral and cognitive responses that are similar to what would occur in reality, present an interesting way forward in the study of extreme social situations."_
> 
> Roviera, A., Swapp, D., Spanlang, B., &amp; Slater, M. (2009). "The use of virtual reality in the study of people's responses to violent incidents." _Frontiers of Behavioral Neuroscience, 3_, 59.

 

~~~

CHAPTER ONE: PLACE

"I did some reading on the sim," Toreth said idly. He ran the end of the leather strap down Warrick's torso, watching the muscles clench and quiver.

Warrick, tied to a perfect replica of the rack from the Shop, wet his lips. He tore his eyes away from the leather traveling in a slow, lazy path across his upper thigh to look at Toreth. "Oh?"

"There are two things that go into creating a realistic sim experience," Toreth said. He had read a few papers earlier in the day, and, for whatever reason, it had stuck in his memory. "The illusions of place and plausibility."

He paused, distracted by the way shivers followed the leather, ripples in its wake.

"Mm?"

"Place is the setting." Toreth continued, only half paying attention to what he was saying. "The environment that you are put into. It's apparently not too difficult to create. People will believe a lot of things, and they just need the suggestion." He snapped the leather strap against the wood of the rack, millimeters from Warrick's side, and Warrick flinched. "It doesn't need to be perfect, not like this here. But it helps. It helps, doesn't it?" The strap resumed its journal across his body.

"We-- We strive for a fully immersive environment--"

"I have no doubt of that," Toreth said. The strap snapped down on Warrick's thigh, leaving behind a white line on his flesh that slowly bloomed pink.

The room was quiet, free of the constant hum of electronics out in the real world, and it made the crack of the leather on flesh echo like gunshot. The walls were naked, free of tapestries or paintings or any of the rich material that adorned other display rooms. No, this one was concrete, cool to the touch and rough, with dim, trailing lights that Toreth knew was based on the Shop.

Warrick had shown it to him in a tour of other rooms a few weeks ago, and he had initially assumed that the lack of furniture was to better focus on the interesting lighting effects. As they had walked towards the far wall, shrouded in darkness, Toreth noticed the dim shapes on the counters and benches. The faint sense of recognition suddenly coalesced into understanding. He hadn't said anything then, hadn't remarked on the sturdy-looking frame in the corner of the room or the ropes or the entire arsenal that looked like it came out of a P-Leisure leather retreat. They hadn't doubled back, not that time, but he knew that Warrick had noticed his own observation. At the time, Toreth had savored the slow burn of anticipation, the way Warrick had paused at the exit, watched the flickering trail of lights dim into darkness until they were together in a delicate spotlight.

Toreth deliberately didn't fuck him that day, not in the sim anyway, and the waiting had paid off. Later that night, he had Warrick in chains-- real chains-- and he had been worked up and begging in no time at all. When he finally let Warrick come, there were tears in his eyes.

Now, Toreth couldn't help but compare that with now. Warrick was tied up on the rack, a complicated replica of the one that he could barely keep his eyes off of at Shop, but there was still something off. Toreth had barely turned the crank, still learning the sensitivity of the contraption, and Warrick was just stretched enough that the leather at his wrists and ankles should have been a constant reminder. That sensation alone should have had him in the stratosphere.

Warrick panted, his eyes closed and his hands fisted. "What about the other part?" he asked. Even with shivers running down his body, he was still able to create full sentences.

Toreth raised an eyebrow. Definitely in the sim.

"Plausibility," he said at last. "The illusion of plausibility. A pretty room won't do any good unless someone can engage. That means I can do things like this -- " He landed a particular sharp blow on Warrick's side and watched Warrick try to keep his body under control. "-- And you'll feel it."

It took Warrick a few moments to find his voice. "Not quite," he said, voice at odds with how hard he was, the way his knuckles were white and the skin of his body mottled pink. "Plausibility is just when the scenario is interpreted as real, even when they know that they're in the sim. It's not just the interactivity, although that is, of course, a large part of it."

The correction irked Toreth. He dropped the leather strap and inspected the collection of accessories hanging off the side of the rack. After discarding the possibilities of them – too mundane – he focused instead on the lever.

"I've identified a key problem of the sim," Toreth said

Warrick opened his eyes, still able to focus, and made an inquiring noise.

"I find it implausible that you're still talking," Toreth said, then turned the lever. Warrick sounded exactly as if he'd been hit, a gasp like an impact then a high, helpless whine as he felt the pull.

Toreth secured the lever before taking a moment to appreciate the visual. It wasn't near as tight as it could be, no where near interrogation levels, but it was enough to make Warrick feel the stretch, the tightening of the leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He was laid out in a long, elegant line, his back arched and the curve of his ribs visible under skin. He was sweating, hair starting to stick to his forehead, and Toreth was amused to see Warrick's toes curling and uncurling.

Toreth rested his hand on Warrick's sternum, feeling the rapid drumbeat of his pulse against his thumb and the rise and fall of breath beneath his palm. This position didn't allow for deep breaths, and he imagined that Warrick was already lightheaded, out of physiology if nothing else. He pressed his hand down, pressure making it that much more difficult, then brought his hand down the wishbone curve of his ribs and then over the softer skin of his belly. The muscles there fluttered, vulnerable.

Perfect.

He selected a neatly coiled whip hanging helpfully off the frame. There were several, most of which he didn't remember them from the Shop. Of course, it wasn't him who was salivating after them so maybe they were, but it gave Toreth a nice edge to think that he was playing within Warrick's fantasies. He shook out his arm, then cracked the whip, testing for weight. It was pleasantly heavy, more than enough to get Warrick started.

"How does it feel?"

When he was pushed, Warrick resorted to the same limited vocabulary. "Hurts," he gasped. "Oh, it hurts."

"More."

Warrick groaned, hands straining and flexing. Toreth deliberated for a moment, then cranked the lever more, and Warrick's head flung backwards, thudding against the wooden planks. He released the lever, before the strain became too much.

"It's good," Warrick said, "good, good, _Toreth_\--"

Toreth smiled. Exactly what he wanted to hear. When Warrick was composed, there was nothing that Toreth could do in the sim that would give him that frisson, but when he was half out of his mind, there was any number of fun things to do. He hefted the whip again, making small figure eights with his wrist. The sim never left him with sore muscles, but it always gave him a lingering feeling as though he should. In either case…

He drew the whip back and then down in an expert line across Warrick's chest.

One benefit of the sim, he thought, was that he didn't need to worry about marking. Warrick wouldn't even bruise. In the real world, there might be the faintest twinges of pain, but it was all psychosomatic.

The room was an echo chamber and each successive sound rang, building on top of the one before, until Toreth felt like he was in the center of a storm, with nothing but Warrick beneath his lash.

Warrick was saying, "Yes, yes, Toreth, please," even as he tried desperately to breath in enough oxygen. There wasn't enough slack for him to struggle, and he just waited for each stroke, unable to push into or away from the lash.

[…]

When Warrick's eyes were wet with tears and he could not pull in a deep breath, Toreth took mercy on him and released the lever slowly. When there was enough slack, Toreth released the bonds on Warrick's legs, then reached up to loosen his wrists.

~~~

"Why were you reading about the sim?" Warrick asked later. They were at the flat, naked after a leisurely round. Playing the game in the sim always left Toreth a little wired, as if even the convincing perception of Warrick breaking down under his hands wasn't enough to fool his body.

Toreth shrugged. "There was an article of note that went around. Motivation to read up on it."

"An article?"

To tell or not to tell? Warrick was in a good mood after a surprisingly satisfying session but talking about work was risky. Well. He'd asked. "In _JAPI_."

A fine line appeared between Warrick's brows as he tried to remember, or reconstruct, the journal name. "The Journal of…"

"Associated Para-Investigators," Toreth said.

Warrick was silent for a moment. "The article by Smithson and Lane," he said at last. "Affiliated with Immersive Simulation." He looked up at Toreth. "They've been talking with I&amp;I, haven't they."

Toreth kept his voice as bland as possible. "Not I&amp;I. Psychoprogramming is interested by their work."

"Of course they would be."

Toreth wasn't sure if the disapproval was directed towards Psychoprogramming or Smithson and Lane, whoever they were. "Why hasn't Immersive Simulation come up earlier?"

"I-Sim is exactly what it sounds like. All of their work at conferences have demonstrated their work on immersive environments, which they are, admittedly, more than adequate at."

Was that a hint of professional jealousy? "But?"

"As you so rightly pointed out, realistic sim experience is more than just the setting. It requires the participant to be _present_. Anything less, and the entire sim becomes no more than an expensive film. It is a point that they, while they claim to understand, have failed to demonstrate. They have exquisite software but untested hardware."

Jealousy or disdain, Toreth decided. It was unlike Warrick, but then he also hadn't paid attention to the corporate side of SimTech since the first case. Essentially boring. Unless Psychoprogramming did obtain I-Sim's technological rights, in which case it could be very interesting.

"Have you been keeping track of them?"

"I-Sim is a relative newcomer," Warrick said. "They've only been around for two years or so. Lew Marcus noticed their work at the last conference. From what he could see, they use a different interface, superficially similar to SimTech hardware, but it is supposed to operate much differently. The environments are very convincing, but he says they didn't demonstrate the interactive aspects that would have highlighted the distinctions between their code and ours. " He paused, thinking. "Asher would have more information on this, but I believe they're almost entirely backed by extremely wealthy and carefully anonymous donors. At the time, we had discussed whether it meant some of our donors were splitting the difference, but that didn't seem to be the case. In light of that article, however, it seems likely that their donors have a different reason to remain unnamed."

Like being a part of the Administration. Psychoprogramming certainly wasn't the only department interested in the tech.

"I haven't had a chance to fully experience their version, but I get the impression that their donors are pushing for a specific agenda. It reduces their ability to work creatively and test the limits of their current system." Warrick sounded as though this was already a major point of contention. It probably was, among his circle. Less so among the bigger corporates who had more to lose than a reputation for academic curiosity.

"Can they provide a working system?"

"I've no doubt they have an accomplished prototype," Warrick said. "The mechanics of production on a wide scale are something entirely different. It takes years to plan that out."

"What happens if they sell the rights to Psychoprogramming?"

Warrick's lips pursed. The perfect prissy corporate face. It sometimes astonished Toreth that he'd seen that same face contorted in any combination of pleasure and pain. "Then we will see how premature a decision that is." He shook his head. "No matter. There's no use worrying about it right now. There are other things to focus on."

Toreth took his cue to reach over and kiss him. Warrick, unsurprised and unsurprisingly, did not resist.

~~~

"Who has the latest _JAPI_?" Toreth asked Sara the next morning when she got in. He had been waiting at her desk for about fifteen minutes, drinking a cup of cold coffee from the day before. It tasted disgusting, but Warrick had left before waking up time to make breakfast and Toreth couldn't figure out the new coffee machine. "Also, your console keeps making appalling sounds. You should get it checked out."

"I think Hagin," Sara said in response to the question. She tapped her lip, then said, "No, she had it for a day, but then Gina borrowed it again, but then. Hm." Her eyes widened. "Tillotson."

Toreth swiveled in the chair to look behind him, but no one was there. He raised an eyebrow, turning back. "_Tillotson_ has the latest copy? What is he going to do with it?"

She gestured at him to get up. "Same as with everyone else, I guess. Wants to get the latest on the future of m-f."

Toreth couldn't help the burst of incredulous laughter. "Tillotson wants to read abot m-f?"

"It is an interesting article."

This was too much. "You've read it too?"

"Gina was really excited about it. You should have seen her. Said she wanted to transfer out of I&amp;I and work as an admin over in Psychoprogramming. Really out of control." She looked curious. "Have you read it?"

"Of course. Warrick wasn't impressed."

Sara hesitated. "If I read it correctly, then the sim -- or whatever their version is called, I-Sim -- doesn't have to be good, it just has to be good enough. Warrick doesn't seem like he'd ever settle for just good enough." Her console chimed, as the mysterious admin system popped up, and she said with some surprise, "Oh, it looks like Tillotson is going to want to see you."

Toreth frowned. "When?"

"Uh, about ten minutes ago. His admin sent me a message fifteen minutes ago. Oh. Is that when the noises started? That's the sound I set his messages to." At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Five minutes to get ready for a meeting," Toreth said, irritated. "I'm not at his beck and call."

"It's probably about the I-Sim article," Sara said, skimming the rest of the message. "Jenny says he's got an eye on promotion. This would be huge."

He leaned down to read over her shoulder, squinting at the small font. "'About the future of I&amp;I,'" Toreth quoted with disgust. "What a fuckup."

He downed the rest of the coffee, grimacing at both the taste and the meeting to come.

~~~

"Senior Para-investigator Toreth," Tillotson said. He had an uncomfortable expression on his face that Toreth assumed was supposed to convey a sort of welcome geniality. It looked more like constipation. "Please. Take a seat."

Toreth obligingly sat down in one of the hardback chairs that stood in marked contrast to the behemoth behind Tillotson's desk. Suited him, though. That kind of chair would have wreaked havoc on Toreth's back.

Tillotson sat down in front of him and steepled his fingers. "There've been rumors going around about Psychoprogramming's recent acquisition."

"I didn't realize it had already gone through," Toreth said.

Tillotson sighed, as though Toreth were a particularly slow child. "In all but name. I should think you'd be intelligent to see that. I&amp;I is also very interested in an acquisition of their own."

"In I-Sim?" Playing stupid, yes, but better than to betray knowledge. "Are we sharing with Psychoprogramming?"

The question was ignored, as they both knew it was absurd. "They say that a fully immersive simulation is an exact replica of the real world. Dissenters would have no idea that it wasn't real. There would be no need for messy levels, no damage waivers. It would be an invaluable resource for some of our, ah, more delicate prisoners."

Like corporates and other resisters with clout. Toreth was familiar with this train of thought. He had gone through much of the same the first time Warrick had taken him into the sim.

"How many of these could we afford?" Toreth asked, changing tracks. "It seems unlikely that just one would be useful, given the quantity of prisoners. Unless we've been allotted a larger budget?"

The pointed jab at Tillotson's weak spot went more or less unnoticed. A bad sign. "The use of a simulator, I-Sim or otherwise, would be an extremely important asset to I&amp;I," Tillotson said. "The initial payment would be more or less paid back with the success of even one high level resister."

High level waivers, damage reports, the occasionally exceeded boundaries. They were time-intensive and costly, sometimes even resulting in a para's dismissal. Toreth could see the appeal.

"How reliable is I-Sim?" Toreth wondered aloud. If it were SimTech, he knew that I&amp;I, no matter how much they shelled out, would have a bargain. He remembered the first time that he was in the sim, the way everything seems perfectly real, the immaculate detail down to the very currents in the air. Warrick's simulations were near perfect.

Tillotson pinned him with a look. "That is part of the reason I called you in, Para."

It suddenly dawned on Toreth that Tillotson hadn't called him in for a simple chat. Tillotson avoided dealing with him except to collect on reports, evaluations, and the occasional hot debate on pay grade. In fact, if he had wanted to hear more about the paras' opinions, he could have talked to Chevril, who would have had plenty to say, or Belkin, not a total tosser. The only that set him apart was--

"It seems that, as you are the only person with experience in this technology, you are the most qualified to act as an advisor."

Even seeing it coming, even if moments before, Toreth felt the unpleasant wash of surprise over him. He couldn't think of the proper reaction, so rather than gape, he leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and laughed.

Tillotson tried to keep talking. "The corporation is hosting a dinner tomorrow night and, I speak for I&amp;I when I say that--"

~~~

"You laughed?" Warrick asked. He was straightening the line of his bow in the mirror, a fussy habit that never failed to make Toreth want to pull him in and muss him up again. "What did he do?"

"What could he do?" From across the room, Toreth picked up an ornamental statuette above the mantle, inspected it, then put it down again. "He tried to convince me of the importance of the position, how it could be a real qualification for future endeavors, then I knew how serious he was when he offered me a higher salary. Temporary, of course, but Tillotson does not go about waving cheques unless he means it. You'd have to know the man to know how exceptional it is. Never been able to wring so much as a drink out of him. He really wanted me to take that position."

"And will you?" Done with the tie, Warrick turned around and faced him. Despite the fact that the limo was on the way, Toreth was still wearing his black I&amp;I uniform, which already suggested the answer to the question.

Toreth gave him a thorough once over, then walked up to him. Warrick didn't move, waited until Toreth pressed up into his space, looming over him. "You look fucking delicious," Toreth said. He reached down and took Warrick's wrists.

Like clockwork, Warrick inhaled deeply. He wasn't glazed over yet, still interested in the fucking question.

"Probably," Toreth said, lips against Warrick's ear. "What is there to say? 'No, I won't take your money?'" He could feel a shiver run down Warrick's body.

"How about, 'There's a conflict of interest'?" Warrick suggested, wrists loosely circled by Toreth's hands. He turned his head and caught Toreth's lips. He kept the contact light and teasing, knowing that any minute now --

The grasp on his wrists tightened and Toreth growled, deepening the kiss until even the act of opening his mouth felt like submission. Toreth pressed him back into the counter until it became a sharp pain against the small of his back. It was an anchor, a tiny harbor against the stormy waves battering his senses. He could smell Toreth, some impossibly sexual flavor that he would never be able to replicate in the sim, felt him against every inch of skin. He struggled against Toreth's grip, felt each finger against the tendons of his arm, the gestalt of them so much more. He panted into Toreth's mouth, hip moving insistently against Toreth's own. It was good, so good, if only he hadn't already gotten dressed, if only he could--

When Toreth broke the kiss, Warrick couldn't help the sound that escaped his mouth.

"Insatiable," Toreth said, satisfied. He pulled back and licked his lips, surveying the damage he'd done. Mm. Not quite. He leaned in once more, tugged Warrick's head back, and kissed him thoroughly, this time making sure to muss the neatly combed hair. "Besides, it's the conflict of interest that put me in this position."

Warrick blinked slowly, dragging himself back into the present. "Hm?"

"The conflict of interest," Toreth clarified. "Why would I have to tell him when half the office already thinks that we're fucking?" More than half and more than thinks, if Sara had anything to do with it. "It's none of his business."

His voice pitched lower, that irresistible timbre that made Warrick thrum. "And if I told him, would I be able to put this dinner on expenses?"

"Did you want to?" Warrick asked, the change of plans already chasing away the fog. "I'd arranged for you to come under SimTech--"

Toreth smiled wickedly. "No, I already put Sara on it. By tomorrow, when I sign the papers, Tillotson will be down the cost of one luxury evening. I'll glance at I-Sim, see what they have to offer. Smithson and Lane, right?"

The comm chimed, and Warrick glanced down at his watch. "That must be the car," he said. "We'd best get going. And yes, they are the head of of I-Sim's research division. They'll certainly be there tonight. It'll most likely be their evening, in fact. Ash has already contacted their publicist and a few sources inside the company, but they've been remarkably adept at keeping quiet."

"Keeping quiet?"

"Either to hide the flaws or so they can have a grand reveal."

"For their sake, I hope it's the latter." Toreth didn't know the head of Psychoprogramming personally, but Sara had briefed him. His name was Edward Watson, and most people were surprised when they met him, a thin, stooped man known for his soft charm and incredible memory. She had reported that popular perception had him as a gentle head of operations that had simply happened to fall into place but - and here Sara had hesitated - he had a background in socioanalysis. Just the faintest hint of Carnac was enough to set Toreth's teeth on edge, and he had taken the detail with the attention it deserved. Watson had the rare ability to get people to talk and the even rarer memory to retain what they said. It was an unpleasant combination in a person who was in charge of the department of mind fucking. It was said, in the hush hush admin circles, that he was not a person who enjoyed being played.

"I do, too." Warrick was serious. It was, of course, the smoke and mirrors game that corporates played, but they rarely played with stakes that would bring the Administration crashing down on top of them. That was the pastime of fools and dead men. Or re-educated ones. "Anyway, I'll just be there as a representative of SimTech. This is not my evening. Lew has been dispatched with the mission of discovering just how similar their work is to ours, and if it might count as a violation of our technological rights."

"Sounds like fun." Toreth dimly remembered Lucas Marcus, one of the three directors of SimTech. He was a tall, dour man whose role at SimTech was grounded in necessity. He did - technical things. Toreth was more familiar with Asher Linton, the director in charge of finance, who was much more likely to frequent corporate dinners.

"Lew will enjoy it. He is not a man of many charms, but there is none better than him at what he does. I trust his report. In either case, we'd better get going. Are you ready?"

Toreth glanced at the mirror behind Warrick's shoulder, saw the neat lines of his uniform. A nice contrast to Warrick's disheveled hair and crooked bow tie. "How do I look?"

He was fishing for a compliment, and it pleased him to watch Warrick struggle to articulate an answer. He knew he looked good, but the uniform never made Warrick happy. Finally, Warrick settled on, "Fuckable, as usual."

"Good." He wasn't any sort of technical advisor for I&amp;I quite yet, but it never hurt to make an impression.

~~~

The evening was surprisingly entertaining, with I-Sim corporates trying their best to present a unified front without insulting SimTech or the myriad other corporations affiliated with the AERC and without putting off Watson and his like. The director of I-Sim seemed adept enough, standing by the cluster of I-Sim prototypes and letting the currents of people wash past him, fielding questions and smiling at current and potential sponsors. He was graying at the temples and trim. Not Toreth's first choice of a fuck, but, if pressed, it wouldn't be a chore.

For his part, Toreth circulated independent of Warrick. They had entered together but Warrick excused himself to make the corporate rounds. Alone, Toreth recognized several of the corporates by face from previous SimTech events, but their eyes slid off his face and onto the repercussions of having the black I&amp;I uniform in their midst. Most of them had heard Warrick introduce him before as a para-investigator, but beyond the initial discomfort they rarely made particular note of it.

Toreth allowed himself to follow the stream of people and, popping a particularly delectable looking hors d'oeurve into his mouth, made his way to machine. He stood just outside the director's immediate flock and waited. The set up looked like a portable version of Warrick's, the comfortable memory foam coach replaced with a utilitarian chair. This version did not have padded straps designed to hold the person's body still that he was intimately familiar with in the SimTech machine.

Eventually, there was a lull in the amount of people, and he heard the director - Jeremy Kedd - walk up to him.

"I noticed you seem quite interested," Kedd said. "Mr…?"

"Toreth," he said by way of introduction. "Val Toreth."

The director swept his gaze down Toreth's uniform, flicking over to the I&amp;I nametag. After the moment's scrutiny, he made eye contact. "Can I answer any questions?"

"Just inspecting the goods," Toreth said. He made a show of looking at the minimalist chair that attached to the sim visor. "There are no restraints."

Kedd's eyebrows raised. "You've seen other simulators, then?"

"I've been to one or two conferences," Toreth said. Let him think what he would. He watched as Kedd recalculated the uniform.

"We've found that there's no need," Kedd said after a contemplative silence.

"No need?"

"Other simulation interfaces induce a deep sleep paralysis during the simulation experience. In a sense, the sim becomes like a dream," Kedd said. Toreth nodded, as though this was new. "However, much as in dreaming, this can translate to movements in the real world. A wave of the arm in the sim can be a wave in the chair, a kick still a kick. To avoid damage to either the patron or the machine, other interfaces require the restraints. However, I-Sim was worked around this problem."

"Oh?"

"You'll have to pardon me for not going in more detail," Kedd said with a deferential smile. "It is a technical detail that we have put quite a bit of time and effort into. But we are confident that no matter what happens while immersed, visitors in the environment will find their bodies safe and unharmed upon awaking."

The comment was clearly designed to appeal to the I&amp;I uniform, and it did. If a prisoner resisted too much in the sim, it was possible that even padded restraints would leave marks. The prospect of even that being a moot point was very interesting indeed. Toreth noted both the information and the easy volunteering of it. It looked like I-Sim wasn't holding out for just Psychoprogramming. Shopping around or making it more competitive?

"What is it like? Inside, I mean."

"Our environments are designed for maximum realism. If you'd like to experience it yourself, Mr. Toreth, we are running demonstrations later this evening."

After dinner and wine when people were less inclined to be picky. Also, after he could learn what exactly Toreth's role was.

"I'll be sure to check it out."

"Please do. It's really quite an experience." He paused, then added, "We've tested for extended periods of time without any negative side effects. Some of our volunteers have even read entire books while immersed. Quite safe for those who know what they're doing."

Before Toreth could ask another question, a woman came up to Kedd and whispered into his hear. Toreth couldn't tell what they were saying, but he followed Kedd's gaze to see Lew Marcus gesturing at bespectacled woman.

"Excuse me," Kedd said to Toreth. "I'm afraid business interferes. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask. We understand that the I-Sim is still not as-- attested as other interfaces, but we do take pride in our work and we have the utmost confidence in it."

Toreth nodded then exchanged final pleasantries. He turned to watch as Kedd disappeared into the crowd.

A particularly abrupt exit. Was it because of Marcus? He made a note to himself to check what Marcus had to say and what may have merited Kedd's immediate appearance.

A waiter passed by, carrying a large platter, and Toreth snagged another morsel. As he chewed, he made his way back to Warrick, who looked like he was engrossed in a conversation with a woman dressed not nearly well enough to be a corporate. An assistant, Toreth guessed. A technician who would later help run the demonstrations.

Toreth paused to have his glass refilled and listened to their conversation.

"When you say 'full immersion'--"

"It's as good as real." The assistant, who had short black hair and large teeth, spoke with a particular blend of confidence and overconfidence, speaking over Warrick without second thought. Toreth readjusted his guess from assistant to a technical director. Someone high enough in the chain to know just how powerful the machine was. Someone not in the limelight enough to need to dress well.

"But only if you enter the simulation without knowing." Warrick sounded disapproving. "Without a random sample, how can you--"

The woman laughed, loud and braying. "How do you propose to get that past the IRB, Keir? Drug volunteers and either place them in an empty library or the simulator? That's absurd. Untestable."

"Then how can you make the claim that it is just like reality?"

"How can you?"

Warrick stiffened. "SimTech has never--"

"No, of course not. SimTech, for all of its standing, has never once made an overture to anything other than private sponsors and high paying private corporations. How is P-Leisure treating your licenses, anyway? I hear the dogfuckers are just panting for it." She let that sink in, pausing to take a drink from her glass.

Toreth could almost feel the freeze emanating from Warrick. Either she was supremely unintelligent or she had a point. It would all depend on Warrick's next statement.

He was surprised when Warrick turned to get his own glass refilled - it looked like water - and made every appearance of just noticing Toreth. "Oh, Para-investigator Toreth!" he said, apparently surprised.

Toreth knew when he was being called. "Warrick," he said, winding his way to Warrick's side.

The stiff line of his back was a clear sign for Toreth not to touch. He kept his arms casually beside himself, playing the role of I&amp;I technical advisor not fuckbuddy.

"Janey," Warrick said, "this is Senior Para-investigator Val Toreth. Toreth, this is Janey Smithson from I-Sim's research department. I believe we spoke about her article?"

"Ah yes," Toreth said, wondering what Warrick was trying to play at. "Ms. Smithson."

"You're from Interrogation and Investigation?" she asked, mirroring Kedd's earlier scrutiny.

"Investigation and Interrogation," Toreth corrected.

"I see." She poorly hid her curiosity for about ten seconds before asking, "What did you think of it?"

"It's compelling," Toreth said, "if true."

Smithson scowled. "Of course it is. Immersive simulation doesn't have to be visually and interactively perfect to elicit realistic responses. This has been shown even before visual environments were perfected, far before the introduction of neural induction. If you read the article carefully, Para-investigator, you'd notice that we were able to elicit realistic responses from participants even in deliberately incomplete visual environments." She sniffed. "Obviously, the realism on behalf of the participants increases with enhanced interactivity, but--"

Toreth suddenly remembered why he never actually talked to the corporates at Warrick's dinners, much less the technical whoevers. They were too caught up in their own agenda to care about anything else. He smiled politely and nodded, sipping the champagne slowly.

I-Sim's catering really was fantastic.

He glanced at Warrick and noticed a faint smile. As he directed his attention back at Smithson, who was still blabbering away, a rising flush in her cheeks, he realized that Smithson was, even from the perspective of someone who would conceivably care, talking far too much. She was on the defensive.

"Very interesting," Toreth said, when she paused to take in another deep breath. "It seems to me that, for someone as convinced in your product as you claim to be, you certainly have a lot to say."

Her scowl deepened. The woman really had no self-control. It was mindboggling how she had managed to get this far with that attitude. Then again, Toreth reflected, it was never really the technicians who had the spin their product. That's what entire financial and publicity departments were for.

"Excuse us," Warrick said, just as Toreth was about to say something that, in retrospect, probably would not have been wise. "I believe I see a good friend over there. Toreth, you remember Tavi?"

Without waiting for an answer, Warrick took him by the elbow and walked him away.

Toreth glanced back and saw Smithson eyeing the contact between the two of them, a dark look on her face.

"That was Smithson?" Toreh asked once they were out of earshot. Warrick led them to the luxury version of a dark corner and released him.

"She travels between research and hardware technology," Warrick said. "She has strong convictions."

"I fucking believe it. Why did she think I cared?" What was I being used for?

"I may have suggested that SimTech was considering unveiling a new production model. And that I may have had an I&amp;I liaison."

The corporate side of Warrick was one that Toreth did not often see. It was interesting, in a peculiar way, to see him play that particular game. "I recognized the majority of the corporates in there."

Warrick smiled thinly. "She doesn't know the extent to which I have your ear, but the rumor mill certainly won't make her feel better."

Interest began to tip into unease. Toreth had avoided thinking about it but accepting the role as any sort of advisor for I&amp;I put him perilously close to opposition to Warrick. In one sense, being there as Warrick's -- partner -- to any event was a social statement, but this maneuvering took it to another level.

"Warrick--" he started.

"I know," Warrick said, raising a hand. "This is the only time -- first and last -- that I use your position in I&amp;I. It won't happen again."

The diffusion of that discomfort morphed into another, more persistent one. When had he become so predictable? Toreth quashed the thought. After a brief pause, in which a waiter carrying an empty platter passed by, Toreth's stomach rumbled.

Warrick laughed. "Their catering really is quite something, isn't it? Shall we?"

They walked together into the crowd, not touching, but close.

 

~~~

 

"They seem cozy," Lew said to Warrick.

Warrick followed his gaze to Toreth settling into the seat of the I-Sim machine, Jeremy Kedd touching him on the shoulder. Toreth was smiling, flashing white teeth and blue eyes. Kedd said something, and Toreth laughed, giving every appearance of enjoying himself. It was towards the end of the evening, and Toreth had mentioned earlier that Kedd had been quite insistent that he try it out.

It'd been a long time since Warrick had felt threatened by a single individual, and Kedd barely registered on the scale. He was wealthy and - Warrick appraised him briefly - fit, but there seemed very little under the surface. He was a corporate, born and raised. If it came to it, he might warrant a fuck -- and Warrick pushed down the irritating knot of jealousy -- but nothing more.

"He must be one of the few people to try out both our machine and his," Warrick said instead.

"Your lover's not that special," Lew said drily.

Warrick focused on his long-time business partner. "Who else?"

"I-Sim has been busy. Ash only gave me a few figures, but it seems that they've been courting several of our sponsors since the article came out."

That damned article. "How did it get such wide circulation? I thought _JAPI_ was restricted."

Lew shrugged. "Word of mouth, it seems. No one is saying anything, but everyone knows that if it's good enough for the Administration then it might be something worth looking into. Especially if they drop our funding."

"I can't see it being very likely," Warrick said. Not when they took up most of the university's Artificial Environments Research Centre and sponsored a significant number of promising students.

"Likely enough. If the Administration gets a hold of I-Sim and they think it's adequate, then who is to say that we won't be dropped? We can't sustain ourselves on private sponsorship alone, especially if we're pushed out of the AERC. Especially if our sponsors are being wooed by I-Sim."

Lew looked more serious than usual, the deep grooves beside his mouth darkened in the light.

"Warrick, they are letting a very specific demographic into their sim. Not you, not me, none of the people who would know better. Private sponsors. The Administration liaisons. Kedd is showing off the machine to a naïve audience. They don't know better."

"Toreth is in there," Warrick said, knowing that Lew had a point.

"Don't play stupid, Keir. We both know it's not Toreth Kedd is letting in, it's the uniform."

At the other end of the hall, Toreth was limp in the seat, face covered with the I-Sim visor. Warrick rarely saw Toreth while he was hooked up in the sim, and, glancing over now, it seemed indescribably eerie. His prone body was entirely at odds with the way he was out of the sim, coiled intention and withheld intimidation. Seeing Kedd stand over him, in a way that Toreth would never allow otherwise, felt like a violation.

"What do you think about the hardware?" Warrick asked, tearing his eyes away and pocketing the small surge of anger.

"It's hard to say," Lew said. "They're being open to everyone but the people who matter. They claim that they restructured the system from the ground up, but, from what I can see, it looks a lot like they're using similar source code as ours. It would explain why they aren't showing the modes to experts and how they've managed to build their company so quickly. I can't begin to think through who could let this happen, but we have to keep it open as a possibility."

Espionage. It wasn't impossible, of course, but Warrick and Lew had been careful from the start. To let code of this magnitude be available for use seemed unthinkable. "I'll have to consider it," Warrick said.

"More than consider, I'd say. I've messaged Ash and let her know. She'll be looking through the records tomorrow. I also mentioned that we might need to go back to the basics and see if anything in our code needs to be trimmed. She wasn't happy, but if we find out that I-Sim is doing something different, we may need to rethink certain codes." Lew looked over Warrick's shoulder and said, "Ah, excuse me. I'm afraid I have to go."

Warrick turned to see Lew stride into the crowd.

He resisted the urge to pass a hand over his face to fend off the oncoming headache, and instead took a sip of his water. SimTech should have been better prepared for this contingency, as seemingly unlikely as it was. SimTech was hardly a large corporation, but, as far as its namesake technology went, it was at the forefront of the research. Would it have been smarter to start setting lures for Administration departments? He knew that, inevitably, sim technology would fall in the hands of the likes of Internal Security. He and Ash had avoided it, though, due to his own distaste at the thought.

Was that naïve?

His thoughts were interrupted some time later when Toreth strolled up to him. He didn't say anything, just stood beside Warrick, their arms barely touching. If he were a cat, his tail would be twitching from side to side.

"Well, how was it?" Warrick asked. It was terribly odd to be interested in what Toreth was saying, from a business perspective.

"It was good," Toreth said. "I was only in there for a few minutes, but it was good." He shrugged. "I suppose there are only so many ways you can imitate reality before it all seems the same."

The comment was a sharp pinprick. Realistically, I-Sim had to be excellent, otherwise it would not have gotten as far as it has and especially in such a short period, but a part of him wanted Toreth to say that it was rudimentary, curves were portrayed as rough-hewn polygons, the rooms gave way to a blurry darkness. Smithson had been so insistent that environment was secondary to plausibility that he had half-expected reports of faulty interposition.

"Was there anything different?" Warrick heard himself ask, and he wanted to curse. Toreth was not a corporate spy, he was not an employee of SimTech.

Toreth shrugged. "It seemed convincing. If I dropped a prisoner in there now, I'm sure he wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

Point taken.

Toreth yawned hugely, then said, "Is there anything else? I'm bored spitless." He gave Warrick a sideways look. "I'd much rather be at the flat."

Warrick wanted to pry, to ask about the sim, was it better? Was it useful? But he pushed it back. No different than what Toreth would ask of him on any given day.

"I'll take my leave of Kedd and Smithson. Would you like to get our things at the coat check? I can meet you at the car."

For a moment Warrick was worried that it was an imposition, but Toreth only smiled. "Perfect."

He pushed off the wall and walked away. Warrick took a moment to appreciate the view. It was later than he had realized and the crowd had diminished by quite a bit.

He finished off his water, then walked over to the prototypes, where Kedd was shaking hands with one of SimTech's sponsors.

"Ah, Keir Warrick," Kedd said, turning his attention.

"A wonderful evening, Jeremy," Warrick said. He nodded at the sponsor, who soon took his leave. "I was quite impressed."

"Were you able to try the machine?"

No, and you very well know that. "I'm afraid not tonight. But if you have some time in the upcoming weeks, I would love to volunteer for a trial. There's been quite a buzz about your work."

Kedd laughed. "That is all of Janey and Landon's work. Their research is really quite interesting, and it seems to have caught the right people's attention." He paused, then added meaningfully, "Including your friend's."

Warrick refused to take the bait. "I do hope that you are careful. I've found that the intended uses for our work are not always the eventual uses, and I would hate to hear such talent wasted."

"Well, thank you for your care, Keir."

"Good night, Jeremy."

Warrick turned towards the double doors and saw Smithson hurrying towards Kedd. She glanced up at Warrick, barely registering his presence before shooting him a dirty look.

"Good night, Janey," he said. "Congratulations."

She did not respond.

She would have to work on that, Warrick thought cynically. He found Toreth and walked with him out into the open air.

 

* * *

 

> _He smiled triumphantly. "But it could keep someone alive. If a user had a defect in his homeostatic control, even a serious one, the sim could compensate for it and he wouldn't die straight away. Think of it as a very expensive life support system. Actually, it's similar to standard nerve induction systems in a hospital intensive care unit; like those systems, the sim would make him breathe, bypassing the damaged portion of the brain."_
> 
> \- Warrick, Mind Fuck

> _"They knock you out. I know. But knowing it's possible… no. It's the idea of them fucking up the sedation. Of waking up in there. It happens. The odds are one in a thousand, maybe, but I'd rather die. Isn't that stupid?" _
> 
> -Toreth, Family Values

 

CHAPTER TWO: PLAUSIBILITY

 

This was going to be a fucking long day, Toreth thought.

Jenny, Tillotson's admin, had called woken him up, early in the morning, far earlier than he was usually even at the office, to tell him that Tillotson wanted the report from last week done and on his desk by today. He had been groggy, unsure of where he was. Once he had coffee in him, Toreth remembered. Tillotson had sent Sara a series of increasingly bland reminders that he needed to write up the report for the case he'd closed up last week, but he hadn't expected a personal fucking reminder.

His mood hadn't been helped by the fact that the bed was empty. Warrick hadn't come back to the flat at all last night. There was something hugely pressing happening at SimTech that warranted all of his attention, some corporate coup that required constant monitoring.

To top it off, when he had arrived at the office, there was a stranger sitting at Sara's desk.

"Ms Lovelady is sick," the man had said, "so I'm taking over her duties for the day. My name is Matthew." His console made some hideous noise and after a few clicks through the message, he added, "She says that Mr Tillotson wants your report--"

Toreth snarled and walked into his office.

He could feel a building stormcloud, and he told himself that it was going to manifest in a spectacular fuck tonight. If Warrick come back to the flat, a traitorous voice in his head said. If he isn't too busy fucking his business partners in the sim.

His heart rate rose and Toreth tried to push away that familiar anger.

He had a report to write.

As Toreth pulled up his old IIP, preparing to write the final fucking statement, he was suddenly hit with the knowledge that he should be doing something else.

There was something else that he was supposed to be doing today.

Tillotson had his admin pass something on, but it wasn't about a report. And certainly not a week old one. Why would he have not have finished it earlier?

The IIP came on screen, and he glanced down. _The witness had been found, half drowned -- _

Toreth fought back a wave of nausea. Of course. How could he forget? The entire investigation was a mess, starting with the witness, found floating underneath the pier. The nearly botched trip to Emergency.

He remembered, with startling clarity, the way the witness had shuddered in the interrogation room, staring with wide eyes at the ugly water trough they had installed in the older rooms of Level Two. After all, why not exploit a phobia?

At the time, Toreth had occupied the role of interrogator so completely that as the witness struggled under his hands, bubbles rising and water splashing, it had hardly bothered him. Here was just another way to get information. Now, the thought made bile rise in this throat.

The screen clattered against his desk as he dropped it, reaching for the rubbish bin, feeling the sour taste in his throat. He heaved.

How could he have forgotten?

 

~~~

 

Warrick had talked countless volunteers through the process of entering and exiting the sim, had seen a few panic inside the tight-fitting visor. Up until now, he had never truly understood their fear. The sim was perfectly safe, perfectly secure. But as he sat down on the couch, he was suddenly aware of the constriction, the claustrophobic smallness of the space. That had always been intended for safety, but now it felt like imprisonment.

He did his wrist and ankle straps slowly, avoiding the inevitable sight that greeted him each and every time he worked with this simulator.

Toreth. Drifting in a flotation tank, face covered by the modified visor that he had spent three sleepless nights soldering.

As Lew had predicted, he and Warrick had spent three full days after the I-Sim reception reading through sim code. However, rather than double checking it for clues of corporate espionage, they had been streamlining to create a new prototype, gutting features that a life support system would not need. They had worked swiftly and silently, the model of efficiency. It was almost enough for him to pretend that he didn't notice Lew's sideways glances.

It was now a full two weeks since the disastrous evening, and Ash was starting to corner him and, between concerned looks and sympathetic touches to the arm, she also gave him reports of Psychoprogramming's almost certain acquisition of I-Sim's tech.

He understood her perspective. It was rational. He could not spend all of his time trying to create a simulation from scratch. It was impossible. A waste of effort. He should be exerting his energies towards maneuvering SimTech to deal with the fall out, reassure his sponsors that everything was fine, check to see if Lew's insticts were right.

But what he couldn't articulate, no matter how he tried, was that he had promised Toreth that, in this nightmare scenario, he would monitor the sedation constantly, and this was the closest he could to doing so at all times.

Warrick knew that it was not his fault that Toreth was in the tank but responsibility gnawed at him. Who could have guessed that, against all odds, an anti-Administration resister had gotten onto the grounds? And that, given all possible outcomes, the resister would have thrown a home-brew acid cocktail into their car?

When Lew had related the official story to Warrick, he had given the story the inflection it deserved. Deadpan and disbelieving.

There was no way that a single resister could have timed the disaster that perfectly, throwing it with laser precision towards Warrick.

But there was also no way that anyone could have expected Toreth to hear the sizzle and, with experience born from grabbing escaped prisoners and any number of unspeakable I&amp;I skills, throw Warrick to the ground.

At the time, Warrick hadn't realized what was going on, and his first awareness after the starburst of light exploded in his vision, was a scent not unlike undiluted vinegar, more of an impact against the back of his throat than a smell. He had gagged, and without thinking he had pushed back at Toreth, who had fallen backward with no resistance. It was then that sound rumbling in his ears had coalesced into a high scream--

No matter. I-Sim, for whatever its role in the deed, had acted with admirable swiftness, calling Casualty and restraining the prisoner.

Warrick had barely caught sight of him, just the whites of the person's eyes and the look of horror as Toreth twisted and screamed, the smell of flesh rising.

At Casualty, Warrick had watched as the medics put Toreth under, the consequences of the action beginning to strike him. Toreth had not updated his medical file and Sara was still next of kin. He called her and told her, very calmly, what had happened and what would happen.

In turn, she had listened, undoubtedly pale on her end, as he explained what the doctors had told him. The medics were currently neutralizing the burn, but it had done significant damage. His uniform was no barrier at all, and the acid had eaten through a significant portion of his back and possibly even to his brain stem. If he did not go into a flotation tank immediately, he might never recover. Warrick would not permit that. Fuck the patient directive, fuck Toreth's absurd fears, even if she tried to stop him, which he trusted she wouldn't, Warrick would make him better. Did she understand?

She did, and, as he had expected, she gave him permission to go ahead. The permission was nominal but welcome nonetheless.

Next was a swift and ruthless campaign to override the patient directive against putting Toreth in a flotation tank. It didn't take long. Medics rarely argued with a corporate in a rage, and Warrick had been in a magnificent temper. He hadn't been hurt at all, some lucky fluke that infuriated him as much as Toreth's own (deliberate) misfortune.

Without realizing it, Warrick had pulled the ankle strap of the sim too tight, and he made a faint sound. He released it, then tightened it to a normal fit.

Once Toreth was in the tank, sedated and dead to the world, Warrick had insisted that the sedation be monitored at all times.

As it had felt with Toreth in the I-Sim machine, Warrick had been profoundly unsettled by the way Toreth looked, buoyed in the tank. From the front, where very little damage had occurred, he looked like a stranger, face unfamiliar in its slack lines and unworried brow. If the tank did not work, if it did not fix Toreth, there was a chance that Warrick could be forever stuck with this blank, inferior version.

In pieces, unfiltered through a deep fear, Warrick began to plan. Early work with Indirect Neural Remodeling had demonstrated that, though the brain could not be fixed through the sim, it could be occupied. And between letting Toreth simply float, keen mind giving way to blankness, and keeping him stimulated, Warrick knew what to choose.

When Sara had arrived at the hospital, Warrick had left him in her care, and he and Lew had returned to the AERC and started their coding vigil.

The logistics were challenging but not impossible. Delicate wiring would have to be encased in a waterproof visor, allowing it to go to Toreth rather than the standard opposite. Machinery must be capable of sustaining the simulation for extended periods of time.

Dr. Weston, the competent medic who had stepped up to deal with him in the chaos upon arrival, had told him that Toreth was healing up nicely, better than anticipated. Reports were good. They had pumped the flotation solution with as many antibiotics and growth facilitators as clinically possible. No infection. All they had to do was wait for the skin to grow, wait for it to become something other than an oversensitized mass. They could probably drain the tank in three weeks. Weston had wanted him in there for a month, but Warrick wanted it for less. Weston had looked at him for a long minute, then had said, "You cannot bargain with physiology, Doctor."

Nonetheless, three weeks or a month, the strain of maintaining an ongoing simulation would be immense.

The prototype, for now at least, seemed to be adequate. Earlier than morning, Warrick had stepped up to the tank, holding the visor, and had plunged his arms into the solution that was keeping Toreth alive. Lew and a technician were overseeing the sim and Weston herself was watching Toreth. Warrick suspected that she was there, not as much to monitor Toreth as to be audience to this peculiar use of sim technology. He wondered if she was taking mental notes, planning to spread the word. He would have, in her position. The technician was a long time employee, familiar enough with the possibilities that this extrapolation was a problem to solve rather than a marvel to ogle.

Then the visor was on, encasing Toreth's head and covering that damnable blank expression. Stepping down and wiping the warm fluid off of his forearms, he had nodded to Lew, who, with all of the gloomy inevitability of an executioner at the guillotine, had flicked the switch to on. The technician immediately took notes.

It had engaged, slow, gradually, and Warrick had watched as the readings moved from coma patient to sleep stages to the odd dream-like readings of a proper sim immersion.

It had worked. Or, from all external readings, it had worked. Toreth was placed in a simulation of the I&amp;I building, cobbled together from I-Sim and SimTech's environments.

Without explaining why, Warrick had demanded to talk to Kedd. Accusations hadn't been brought up yet, not while his lawyers were still tracing lines of communication and motivation, but it was common knowledge among anyone who had half a brain that the official story was not, could not be, the true one. It would be easiest to simply give consent to the request, to contribute to whatever needed to be done for the poor I&amp;I advisor who had been damaged at the I-Sim event. Kedd's sabotage had gone wrong, but it could be salvaged. Kedd understood, and he had volunteered Administration facility environments. The complete replica of the buildings had raised a few eyebrows, but Kedd was unapologetic. Considering its future use, the Administration-centric expenditure would have been an asset.

Toreth, as far as he knew, was living an ordinary life, walking from their flat to the Administration complex, making his way through the bars and nightlife. There were several variations of Yeses, based off of SimTech employees. Currently, everyone of importance in his life was unavailable for some reason or another. Tanit, the former sim psychologist, had once mentioned to Warrick that people would fill in the blank spaces if given enough suggestion. And given this world, Toreth would create the excuses himself.

Warrick reached up to hold the visor on the provisional sim system beside the tank. He had it moved from the AERC to the hospital and it would, in theory, allow him to join Toreth in the sim.

He inhaled once, then fitted the familiar visor over his head, hooking it underneath his chin and breathing deep. If it worked, then he could speak to Toreth, live a few more weeks with this man, before facing the consequences of what he had done.

From beside him, in a different reality, the technician pressed a few buttons, engaged the sim and then--

Warrick was in the sim room at SimTech.

 

~~~

 

Toreth had just finished writing the last words of the report when his comm rang. He answered without looking at who was calling. "Val Toreth."

"It's me," Warrick's voice was rich and low, disturbingly gratifying. It felt like the day's fog lifted. "Are you free?"

"Very nearly." The report just needed a final flourish, some brown-nosing remark that would mollify Tillotson enough to get off his back. There. Done. He sent it off. "Yes."

"Would you like to meet me? We could do lunch."

"Where are you?"

A silence then, "I'm outside your building."

"Give me five minutes. I'll meet you outside Justice."

"Very well." It sounded like Warrick was smiling, and Toreth was irritated by the pleasant buzz it aroused.

Toreth stood up. He felt like he hadn't seen Warrick in a long time. It'd only been a few days, though. There was no reason he should-- miss him.

 

~~~

 

Ash had known Keir for a long time. She knew him when he was married to Melissa and she had seen him through their divorce. It had been ugly, certainly, and he had all but slept over the sim pieces, but, in some ways, that was less wrenching that seeing him in the sim.

She heard a noise at the door and saw Lew enter.

"Ashton," he said, nodding at her.

"Lew."

They stood together, observing the blond man in the tank, the odd helmet with wires trailing out of the tank. He looked, absurdly, like an artist's rendition of a deep-sea diver, well-crafted muscles and a peaceful pose. From this angle at least. Nothing at all like the intimidating para-investigator she had first met those years ago.

"What are we going to do?" Lew asked, breaking the silence.

She knew what he was talking about. "This is the only full time immersion project that's been done. At least to this scale." She hesitated. "And the only one where the participant doesn't know that he's in the sim."

Lew nodded. He had clearly already thought about it, which was a relief. "Impossible ethics. The only reason we're getting away with it is because Warrick-- cares for him. Deeply."

And that was an understatement.

"I was considering this earlier," Lew said, one hand waving in an all-encompassing gesture. "About I-Sim and SimTech. Aren't these as good as trials? There cannot be a more perfect test subject than Toreth. Someone who has had some familiarity with the sim but, more importantly, is affiliated with the Administration. There's a reason he was in uniform that night."

Ash felt a twinge of discomfort at talking about him like that, but she pushed it aside. "What are you saying?"

"These are the closest things to test trials as we could possibly get without drugging someone up and putting them in. Warrick is basically coercing --"

"I wouldn't call it that."

"--Or whatever you want to call it, the para-investigator into being a subject. This is full immersion, Ash. He is living in the sim. This is what Psychoprogramming wants. They are interested in I-Sim because they have control over every aspect of their environment. Have you ever considered, really considered, what Psychoprogramming would do?"

Her mouth was dry. "Lew--"

"Imagine if you were living, just going about your life, when suddenly you're pulled out. Something happens and you discover that your life was just a complex series of numbers and letters, a simulation of the real thing. Unsettling, right? But what if it happened again? And again? Reality ceases to exist. But what if someone is there to tell you what does exist and they can confirm it. That as long as you obey these rules, they can save you? Wouldn't you cling to that safety net? That net is the Psychoprogramming. It's Edward Watson. It's the Administration. You've heard what they call it. Mind fuck. That's what this is going to be used for."

"You're not suggesting that we--"

Lew heard the fear in her voice, then relaxed. "Oh, no. No. Not at all. I'm not suggesting that we do that to the para, although I am afraid to think what it will be like when he exits the sim. I'm just saying that this has never been done. And it could be of interest."

Warrick's body twitched, one hand fisting involuntarily. It caught Ash's eye. "Do you think he'll be okay with it?"

"Warrick? I'm sure he won't be, but he is a rational man."

Ash sighed. "Rational. That is a terrible word to use when faced with a loved one in danger. Can you imagine yourself in this situation with Lotte?"

"It's hard, undoubtedly. But Warrick will not let SimTech fall. We've all worked much too hard to let that happen. Besides, we both know that letting SimTech fall to pieces was exactly what Kedd wants. Toreth was an unfortunate bystander."

"You're right," Ash said at last. "I'll talk to some people, start disseminating the information. If we want this to work, we need people to know.

Lew turned to her, and for the first time she noticed the look in his eye. It was close to desperation. "Ash, we need this to work. If we can prove that the full immersion is not convincing, then we might be able to stop I-Sim. It's a long shot, but it exists. It's more than we can say if Warrick gives out on us."

She was silent for a moment. He waited for her to think things through. "Keir isn't going to like it, using Toreth as data, but if it's the only way…" she trailed off. "I'll talk to him when he gets out of the sim. You go through and make sure everything is working, environmentally. I know Keir has already double- and triple-checked everything but with the amount he's been sleeping, I'd feel better knowing someone else has looked at it. If Toreth is going to be in there and not know, then we don't want a tree walking away or some such."

 

~~~

 

Lunch in the sim was good, followed by a sim fuck that was ever better.

Toreth didn't seem to notice anything different.

Warrick was both relieved and unnerved.

 

~~~

 

When Warrick lifted the visor, he glanced at the flotation tank beside him. To his surprise, he saw Ash looking at Toreth. She was standing behind the tank, studying the stretch of burned skin.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's good," Warrick said. "He seems to be in perfect condition. There are a few lapses in reasoning, but, given the situation that he's in, it seems understandable." He tugged aside the last of the restraints, rubbing at his wrists, then stepped up beside her.

"The situation. Yes." She looked over at him. "How can he not know if no one is in there with him?"

"He has engineered excuses," Warrick said. "They're at work, on vacation, ill."

Of course.

"Does he know that he's in the sim?"

Warrick shook his head. "It doesn't seem like it. It's-- odd. He has created plausible explanations for where people are. We didn't talk about business, but he seemed to think that I stayed the night at SimTech, working." He laughed, no humor apparent in his voice. "A rival company staged a coup, apparently."

"He remembers?"

"I wouldn't call it that. But as much as I appreciate the concern, can I assume that you have another reason of being here?" Ash looked stung. She had never been overtly cruel to Toreth, but she rarely spoke to him. Avoidance rather than confrontation, Warrick had always assumed. "Forgive me. I didn't intend for that to sound cruel. It's simply, ah, a busy week."

"I believe it. You're holding up remarkably well, all things considered." She tilted her head and looked at him. "How _are_ you?"

How was he? It hadn't truly occurred him to think about it. "I'm--" He thought about it. "I've certainly been better. But I am relieved that this works. And that he hasn't figured it out yet. He'd be furious, you know. Absolutely furious."

She gave him a puzzled look. "For saving his life?"

"Toreth has particular boundaries," Warrick said. "In saving his life, as you put it, I may have violated them beyond repair."

From this angle, there were hints of the new skin around his shoulder, but very little damage had been done the front of his body. Not even thinking about it, Warrick followed the curve of the tank and, like a flower, the perfectly tanned skin blossomed into pink and red. The acid had hit Toreth's shoulder, biting deep into flesh and spilling and sizzling into nearby skin. The skin looked much better now. It was pink and new, partially grafts, partially dish-grown. Warrick pressed his hand against the warm fiberglass, remembering how real Toreth had felt beneath his fingers just a few minutes ago.

When he came out, Toreth would probably be unhappy with the state of his body, given how much time he spent preening. Unhappy with a lot of things, certainly. Being in a flotation tank. Being caught demonstrating enough care to protect Warrick. Being a prop in a corporate battle.

It was the last that was the most perplexing.

Warrick had culled data from previous visits into the sim, but that was much different than being a dataset of one, the study under the microscope. And, without doubt, that is what he would become. There was no way that either I-Sim or the Administration would let this test subject go without scrutiny.

He sighed. "I suppose we need to talk about the repercussions," he said.

Ashton touched his elbow. "I understand this is a very difficult time for you, Keir."

"Not as difficult as it could be, all things considered. He is going to get better, and we know it. But that's not what we need to discuss."

"I've already started to let a few people know that we are doing a full-immersion study. I didn't give any details, but it should be obvious to those who need to know who we are doing it on and using what. I-Sim has already taken note. They want to prove that their Administration environments work."

In the tank, Toreth's legs kicked slightly. He did say he was going to go swimming afterwards. Something about a terrible day.

Warrick closed his eyes.

"Let's go get food," Ash said, pity palpable in her voice. "You've been here for much too long."

He hesitated, then counted back the hours that he had been in that very room. She was right. Maybe a change of setting would help him think. There were still so many things he had to take care of. He let her steer her out of the room, and he avoiding glancing back until she closed the door. He could only see a sliver of Toreth, still in the tank, still drifting.

~~~

Sara frowned. Toreth may have been irresponsible in every other aspect of his life, but he kept impeccable records as a para-investigator. He wasn't compulsive like Warrick, in any sense, but he did have his own anal retentive streak.

"I don't see any papers," she said at last to Jenny. "It's possible he has them at his flat. I can check for you tonight."

"If you could, that would be great. Tillotson is on my back about it. He says he needs to know whether or not Toreth was there in an official capacity."

The two admins shared a look. Their job was frequently an underrated one, with too much responsibility and too little credit, but it did have an excellent support system.

"What's going to happen to him, anyway?" Jenny asked. "Toreth, I mean."

"He's fine," Sara said. Warrick had assured her of this, anyway. Granted, at the time, she was about a centimeter away from tears, which may have played into it, but she trusted Warrick to tell her the truth.

"I hear that he's disfigured." Sara was about to get outraged on her para's behalf before Jenny added mischievously, "I guess he'll learn what it's like to look like everyone else."

"Are you kidding?" Sara said, summoning up a laugh. "If he had so much as a scar, he would wear it so rakishly that all the men and women of New London would fall over themselves to ask him the glamorous story."

"You do have to admit," Jenny said, "it actually is a pretty glamorous story. At a big rich party, saving a corporate from an angry resister with a bomb."

It sounded far from glamorous, Sara thought. It sounded terrifying. Like acid burns and flotation tanks. Facing your worst enemy. She shivered.

Jenny dropped the gossipy pretense. "Seriously, though, Sara, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

They talked for a little while longer, Jenny trying her best to make her feel better.

It wasn't as though she understood. Tillotson never got himself into these situations. Tillotson was a useless tosser who-- who--

She excused herself, leaving the half-empty cup of coffee on the breakroom table, to go to the lady's room, shut herself in a stall, and cry.

 

~~~

 

"Where is she?" Toreth asked Matthew, that useless wanker.

The admin - if he even counted as that - was calm under his gaze. "I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure?" Toreth asked. "All you have to fucking do is look under the files. Lovelady. L-O-V-E-L-"

"There's nothing there!" Matthew said at last, turning the screen towards him.

"What do you fucking mean there's --" Toreth caught the screen and frowned.

There really was nothing there. The entire data file was blank, with the sole exception of the name.

"What did you do, you useless fuck?" His voice dropped low and dangerous. "What did you do"

"I didn't do anything. It was blank when I got here."

Matthew was staring at the screen, a familiar, distant problem-solving look. He typed in a few more names. "You're in the database, Para. And Tillotson. And Chevril. All of the investigators are in here."

"Look at me. Matthew. Look at me."

Reluctantly, he looked up. For the first time, Toreth noticed how fuckable he was. Matthew's eyes were familiar, something about the set of them in his face, the curve of his lips. But it didn't diminish his anger.

"I want you to find out why Sara is not answering her comm," Toreth said, level voice giving the impression not of calmness but of a great restrained anger. "I want you to find out why she's not in the system. I want you to get the fuck out of my sight."

To his credit, Matthew did not try to argue. "In what order?" he asked, an incongruously sardonic smile on his face.

"Get out of here."

He did.

Even banishing the oddly familiar Matthew didn't help. Toreth was restless. Something did not feel right. He looked around. The admins were all busy working, looking down at their consoles and typing. A few were on the phone.

That wasn't right either. Sara wasn't the only gossip in the office and the only times the admins, as a group, was this diligent was when they had visitors. As far as he knew, no one was scheduled to come. There didn't seem to be any major cases happening at all. No one had called him, with the sole exception of Warrick. It'd been a week since his last case. Something was up.

He went to go talk to Tillotson.

 

~~~

 

"How will that help us?" Warrick asked. It was illuminating talking to Tillotson, in that Toreth's repeated expletives around his name suddenly made more sense. The man was cut throat, more subtle than most of the para-investigators he had met, but nothing compared to the corporate sharks. It was a bit like trying to negotiate with a particularly aggressive bulldog.

Warrick had called to let him know that Toreth would be on medical absence for three more weeks, but Tillotson had refused to let him get off the comm, trying to pry into the details of SimTech's hand in it.

"Toreth is one of our senior para-investigators," Tillotson said again. "He has demonstrated numerous times his expertise. He is invaluable to us."

Warrick filed away the praise so that he could tell Toreth it later.

"Regardless of his worth, there is nothing more we can do except wait for him to get better." Warrick tapped his fingers against his desk. The gesture should have been outside the scope of Tillotson's video feed, but Tillotson scowled anyway.

"Doctor Warrick," Tillotson said, switching tones. "Is it my understanding that Toreth is currently under your care and your supervision?"

"Yes," Warrick said simply.

"And you say that he is currently submerged in a flotation tank, immersed in the simulation?"

"I never said that."

Tillotson waved a hand as if brushing that away. "We both know better," Tillotson said. He stared into Warrick's eyes. "Does he know that he is not in the real world?"

Warrick looked back calmly, not saying anything.

"Can he not tell?"

"Director, I'm afraid I cannot answer your questions."

Tillotson sat back in his chair, waiting for an explanation.

"Toreth is currently in a flotation tank and he will be there for the next two weeks. I simply called in to let you know."

When Warrick moved his hand to turn off the screen, Tillotson said, "Wait."

Obligingly, Warrick did.

"Do you know what it takes to be a para-investigator?"

"I'm afraid I do not," Warrick said. "Not the specific parameters."

"Few do. But one thing that we require in all of our investigators is good health. Investigators of all sorts, junior and senior, para or not, they must all meet our minimum standards. This insures that they are able to do the work that they have been trained and are paid to do." Tillotson's voice was cold. "If they cannot meet those standards, then they are either put on limited leave or they are dismissed from service."

Ah.

"They also undergo rigorous psych evaluations. Our investigators are chosen for a reason, and if they are shown to have significant alternations in their psychological profile, then, again, they are dismissed from service."

Warrick contemplated what he was saying. On one hand, Tillotson's perceived leverage over him - Toreth's position as a para-investigator - only worked if Warrick indeed did want him to keep the job. If it were up to him, he would gladly accept Toreth's dismissal. But it wasn't. Toreth, as much as he whinged about the people and the hours, had found a niche in the circle of similarly damaged minds. If Warrick unilaterally severed that connection, then Toreth would not forgive him.

"I see," Warrick said.

"I would hate to see Toreth lose the position that he has spent so many years of his life preparing for."

"What do you want?"

Tillotson looked like Toreth mid-investigation. His eyes were dark and empty. "Does he believe that the sim is real?"

"Real enough for our purposes," Warrick said. "We were afraid of neurological damage, but he is fine. Unchanged."

Couching the information in medical excuses did not hide the fact that the sim was, for Toreth, a substitute for reality. Absolutely appealing, for a para-investigator. Probably moreso for a division head.

It was inevitable, Warrick knew. The technology would get out eventually.

"Now, you'll have to excuse me, I'm afraid I have to go." Warrick cut out and sat back in his chair.

Ash had started to spread the word among corporates that a real life test subject was being used, and now he had started the wildfire among the Administration.

Whether he knew it or not, Toreth was the single dataset that could change everything.

 

~~~

 

"I couldn't find her street, Para," Matthew said, poking his head in through the door. Toreth was sick of everything. He had tried to get in touch with Tillotson, but the fucker was in meetings all day. His admin was of no help whatsoever. She didn't seem to know anything.

"What the fuck kind of excuse is that? Can you not read location mapping?"

"It didn't exist."

"How can it not exist? I was there last week!" Toreth couldn't help it, he leapt out of the chair and began to pace.

Matthew stood in the doorway, calm. "I checked your manifests, and the place that it mapped to simply did not exist."

Toreth stood in front of him, breathing deeply. It wouldn't do to beat him, but it was so tempting.

"Fine. Get out."

Matthew gave an ironic bow, then left.

Toreth called Warrick's comm, but no one answered. In fact, the comm chimed once, but never made it to a message.

More and more unnerving. He felt like the panther in the zoo, turning in tight circles, not seeing something critical, something different.

What was he missing? His eyes fell on the bookshelf. Row upon row of _JAPI_ articles. Those did not used to be there. He flipped one open.

~~~

 

SimTech had an impromptu director's meeting beneath Toreth's shadow. Warrick sat with his back against the base while the other two sat on the floor. It felt much like the old days, before they had any offices and everything was a thought experient.

"Where are we at now?" Warrick asked.

Ashton inhaled. "I've spoken to the research divisions at LiveCorp and a few other corporations. I haven't said anything out right, but the right people know that I-Sim's claims are being put to the test. Obviously, we can be accused of biases, but given that _he_ doesn't know, this is the closest thing to their claims we can get." Unable to help herself, she glanced up at Toreth, the pink burns, the golden flesh.

Warrick ignored the direction of her gaze. "I spoke to the I&amp;I division head not too long ago. Someone has already leaked the information."

"The doctor, I warrant," Lew said. "She knew what she was watching. In either case, I don't know if we'll even need to depend on Toreth."

"What have you found?"

Lew's lips quirked up into a facsimile of a smile. "Do you remember Lee Boyd, Warrick?"

"Boyd?" Warrick frowned, trying to place the name. "Oh, the technician. He worked with us when we were still at the Human Sciences Research Centre."

"Good memory. I struggled to remember, myself."

"Why did it come up?"

"I actually ran into his ex-wife at the I-Sim event. She is an ex-employee at I-Sim, now too, newly fired. I don't know how we missed her; she's brilliant. Anyway, we were talking about the history of the sim and I mentioned how you and I worked together on the Indirect Neural Remodeling project. She recognized it and name dropped her husband. Apparently he was not pleased with our defection and became one of the original founders of I-Sim."

Warrick leaned his head back against Toreth's tank, thinking.

Ash spoke up, "I-Sim is new though. It can't have been around for more than two or three years. Four years at most."

"Not as Immersive Simulations, no. But do you remember that one company that went bust years ago? The one funded by the Administration?"

"Dimly."

"It was apparently supposed to be a continuation of our INR work, under the new version of the Human Sciences department. People were very hush hush about it. At the time Warrick and I thought they were continuing the lines of our work but under Psychoprogramming. They went through a lot of condemnation in certain circles. You probably don't remember this, Warrick, it was right around Melissa. Anyway, it splintered into pieces after a while, and everyone thought that it was gone. Apparently not. It looks like Boyd was able to purchase certain other rights that the new department had picked up."

This explained I-Sim's rapid growth. Warrick said, "So I-Sim is working off of the same code that we are. Basically. The neural induction model is the same, if they took it off INR."

"Yes." Lew looked pleased with himself.

"If they were able to purchase the rights," Ash said, "then we can't use that against them."

"Yes, but since then, Warrick and I have spent many, many hours reconstructing and reorganizing the sim. The differences that they tout between our machine and theirs are not fundamental, but different pathways of achieving what should be the same thing. Theoretically. Unfortunately for them, the same surface structure does not equal the same deep structure. "

"What is the difference?"

"I'm not sure," Lew admitted. "I haven't been able to test the system in as much detail as I would need to really pin it down. But there is something fundamentally off about their system. If we open up Toreth's model to a certain group, I'm certain that we'll be able to figure it--"

Something thumped above Warrick's head and he flinched.

"Warrick," Ash said, in a strained voice. "Turn around."

 

~~~

 

It had been a long time since Toreth thought to use the sim cut out word. Aside from the brief moment of doubt when Warrick had introduced him to the eerily human Yeses, he had ignored the question of what was real. Paranoia had its place, and, for the most part, it did not extend to the very limits of reality.

However, when enough things went wrong, when Sara's flat disappeared and did not exist, when what should have been crumpled journals long since disposed of were sitting on a shelf that did not previously exist, when Warrick was not there to serve as a baseline, then sometimes he did.

To avoid looking too foolish, he opened the door to his office and he said, "Matthew, do you know Chevril's--"

\-- and then he was plunged into water, mouth filled with liquid, he was blind, he couldn't see, this is what drowning was like, except he couldn't even move, he was burning, burning, his back was on fire, he was drowning--

"Toreth!"

He was gasping on the floor, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other pressed against his stomach as he heaved--

"It's okay."

Without anything else moving, a rubbish bin was in front of him and he was vomiting into that.

A glass of water appeared at his side.

Warrick was there.

Toreth rested his head against the plastic edge, unable to catch his breath. His pulse was through the roof, he could feel hear it in his ears, could almost imagine the echo from within the bin.

"Toreth, listen to me."

He was listening. How could he not? He couldn't even stand. A cool hand rested on his back.

"What are you doing here?" Toreth rasped.

"I didn't mean for you to find out like this," Warrick said. Impossible that he was here. He was in a meeting not too long ago. He hadn't been let into the building. "You're in the sim, Toreth. There was an accident. A bad accident."

Warrick's voice calmed him. There was no way that could be faked, no way the gentle motions against his back was anything other than Warrick.

"What happened?" Toreth asked.

Warrick smiled. "You showed a remarkable ability to throw me to the ground. Unfortunately, you leapt in the way of an unpleasant mix of chemicals and got rather injured in the process."

Toreth digested the information slowly. "And the sim?"

Warrick licked his lips unconsciously. A sign of nerves. "To save any semblance of a back, we had to put you in a tank. I-- The doctors were afraid that the acid may have burned some crucial nerves. I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

Toreth considered the palette of emotions. He was tempted to get angry, but he was too tired. "How long will I have to be here?" he asked.

"Two more weeks."

"What is the prognosis?"

"You'll be fine. You may need to work a little bit to regain your current physique but the medics believe that you will be fine."

"Good." Toreth said. He blinked slowly. "Good."

Warrick watched as Toreth slumped forward. He visualized the two of them at their flat, then, just like that, he set Toreth down onto the sheets.

There were faint frown lines between his brows, a certain presence that Warrick had missed. He kissed Toreth's forehead, then disappeared.

 

* * *

 

EPILOGUE:

"You said I would be fine," Toreth accused. He was spread out on the bed, naked across several towels.

"Mm, you look fine to me," Warrick said, running oiled hands down his back. As Dr Weston had said, there was some scarring, but the dermal regenerators had done a good job. Warrick couldn't help but brush his hands over the sensitive skin over Toreth's left shoulderblade, watching the muscles contract.

Toreth moaned into the pillow. "Still sore," he said indistinctly.

They had just gotten back from their second checkup. The physical therapist had frowned at the state of Toreth's legs and, rather than pity him, had berated Toreth for letting his body go to waste. "Ruin that sexy figure?" he had said with genuine displeasure. "Why would you do that?"

The therapist had then set off to apparently correct a month of muscular atrophy in one session, spurring Toreth on with outrageous flattery. At the time, Toreth had been narrow eyed and diligent, but upon coming back to the flat, he had stripped down, then collapsed onto the bed and declared that he would never move again. Anticipating it, Warrick had laid out the towels and had warmed the massage oil.

Warrick reached and laid a line of kisses down the curve of Toreth's spine, careful to land a few on the soft pink spots.

"I'm quite glad you're back," he said. "It was getting lonely without you."

"Mm," Toreth said in response. "The sim."

"It's not the same, and you know it."

And Toreth did. The game never worked in the sim, especially when Toreth was perpetually aware of his body deteriorating in the real world. Every time Warrick visited, Toreth would ask how his body was. If it had been in any other situation, Warrick would have teased him for his absurd self-interest, but, as it was, he had always sat down and given Toreth an accurate update. He deserved that much, at least.

Toreth didn't realize, or maybe simply hadn't realized yet, his role in destroying I-Sim. Using Toreth's growing uncertainty as a starting point, Lew had been able to track back the faulty coding. It was, as Warrick had said in a presentation to corporate and Administrative liaisons alike, more than just creating a visual illusion. In order for the sim to truly emulate reality, it had to compensate for psychological processes. Without this underlying understanding, the sim simply became an expensive toy. While Smithson's theories were still correct, they did not apply to the I-Sim machine.

It was a damning talk, made all the more striking with footage from Toreth's immersion, and by the end of it, Kedd's face was carefully impassive. Watson, the head of Psychoprogramming, showed no emotion either, but it was obvious that the repercussions had struck home. I-Sim was swiftly and silently dismantled, hushed away as all of the Administration's missteps were. For his part, Tillotson noted to Warrick that he expected Toreth to have a report on his desk. After all, the evening was under I&amp;I's budget and Toreth had the unique experience of being immersed.

Warrick sighed against Toreth's skin. He smelled like sweat and sex, unmistakably Toreth.

"Roll over," Warrick said, nudging his hip.

With a grunt of displeasure, Toreth did. Warrick straddled his thighs then leaned down to catch Toreth's lips with his own. Toreth's cock rubbed against his stomach and Warrick rocked slowly.

"Fuck me," he whispered against Toreth's lips. "Please." He could feel Toreth against him, and he smiled.

"So demanding," Toreth said. He grabbed Warrick's wrists, then in one deft move, rolled them both over.

The towels got tangled and bunched, and Warrick could feel them beneath his back. He arched. In the sim, the sheets were never rough against his skin, and if they were, he could think them away. In the sim, Toreth's lips were never too rough, his hands too tight. In the sim, when he was held down, he knew he could escape with just a thought.

In the sim, he didn't need to put trust in Toreth.

But here, with Toreth over him, a huge, imposing presence weighing down his wrists, pressing inside, Warrick struggled. He struggled to suck in enough oxygen properly, to get in enough air when Toreth's name occupied every breath, he struggled to move when Toreth held him still. He struggled to let go, to let the last month of stress and fear and loneliness escape for the immediate and indubitable reality of now.

And finally, finally, as Toreth entered him, heavy and hot and real, Warrick did.

"_Toreth_."


End file.
